Don't Blink
by OrangePlum
Summary: There's not much you can do when confined to a hospital bed. All you can really do is sit there quietly brooding and hope to any divine being up there that you won't become attached to the charming American across the way.
1. Chapter 1

A/N: Please don't be overwhelmed by the size. It's an easy read when you get into it because it comes in chunks. A two-part series about the total suckiness it must be to be stuck in a hospital bed. But you never know what kind of interesting people you could meet.

Lots of loveliness and angst ahead.

Enjoy.

* * *

_June 22_

A persistent ticking hummed out into the air in gradual taps, light vibrations tickling at a young man's ears with growing annoyance. The blonde furrowed his brow and stared at the clock watching the second hand dance around the numbers in a smooth promenade. He lightly gripped at the sheets below him as the boredom he was harboring began to grow steadily with each passing tick. A small sigh slipped through his lips gaining an irritated glance from a man across the room.

"Will you shut up with that? You've been doing that for nearly two hours. It's getting on my nerves."

Alfred scowled at his roommate with barely retained immaturity. Purposefully this time, just to get on the sandy-blonde's nerves, he sighed over-dramatically with a loud whine mixed in. He received a glare in response.

"Oh, that's _really_ mature. You're the epitome of perfect American manners," growled the uptight Briton. He really did hate this country even if his job had transferred him with good intentions, and being stuck in here with an idiot for a bed partner wasn't helping his situation. He attempted to kick his foot restlessly under the covers, hating the bedsores that were forming.

"I'm just breathing. I don't see a law against that," Alfred shot back. "Besides, if you hate America so much then don't live here. Don't get on my case just because you can't have your afternoon tea."

The green-eyed man bristled instantly. "_That_ is a British stereotype, you moronic baboon of a man!"

"Hey," Alfred protested with a small frown. "I'm not a baboon."

"Pardon me. I meant a garbage disposal. I've only been here a week and I'm simply repulsed. The things you put into your mouth…"

"I think you have me mistaken with your mom."

The eruption from the skinny gentleman wasn't unexpected. "Why you – That's inexcusable! I've never met such an insufferable person!"

"That makes two of us –"

"SHUT UP!"

Both males froze immediately, eyes shooting from each other to a nurse in the doorway. The scowl on her face and edginess of her sharp eyes sent chills down both of their spines. She placed a hand on her hip and pointed at the Englishman with a fixed look. "How many times do I have to come in here and tell you to be quiet, Arthur, until you actually do it? I can hear your voice three wards away. Stop screaming or I'm getting you a muzzle." Said man opened his mouth for an angry retort before she continued, this time pointing at Alfred. "And you. I don't know what you keep doing to make him angry but you better stop. I can't keep coming in here to break you two up."

Alfred settled back into his pillows and folded his arms. He leaned over and motioned with his neck stiffly to the bed no more than ten feet next to him. "He started it," he grumbled. Arthur looked exasperated, his lips peeling back in a thin sneer.

"_I _started it? I'm not the one breathing like I just walked up thirty flights of stairs," Arthur growled. It seemed that every little thing Alfred did, he did to annoy him. That didn't sit well with Arthur. Not one God damn bit.

At his statement the nurse loosened up quite a bit. With a few short strides she was at Alfred's bed, a slim hand skimming under his bangs and gliding up his forehead. "Are you having chest pains again?" she asked seriously. Alfred groaned, hating being fretted over, before pushing her hand away.

"I'm fine. I was just sighing and he had to get all bent out of shape."

Arthur frowned.

"Are you sure? You aren't just trying to get out of doing those exercises and medication, are you?" the nurse asked skeptically and narrowed her eyes. It wouldn't be the first time since Alfred's stay that he'd been completely uncooperative.

"Yes. Cross my heart and hope to die," he reassured with a quick thumbs up. The nurse didn't appreciate the remark what with where they were and all. Hospitals were a grim place with no use for jokes such as those.

"Well if that's the case then I'll be back in here in an hour to give you your medicine." Making her way towards the door the woman stopped. "And I mean it Arthur. Keep your voice down." Arthur watched angrily as the attendant left the room before abruptly giving her the one finger salute. He settled back into his mattress hating the way it felt on his back. The sheets were itchy and the mattress was stiff and his legs felt like they were bruised down to his very bones.

The room drifted back into silence, the only noise barely heard being the ticking of the clock. No more than three minutes passed since the nurse's departure, and Arthur shutting his eyes trying to relax his muscles, did another soft sigh fill the air. Arthur's eyes opened slowly before fixating themselves on the wall in front of him.

"Now you're doing that on purpose."

Alfred whined and kicked his covers off with a few clumsy attempts. "I'm bored."

"You're bored every day," Arthur countered, wishing he'd injured his ears as opposed to his spine. At least that way he could escape the constant jabber the young blonde emitted every second of every day.

"And that clock's driving me crazy."

"You're driving me crazy."

Alfred pouted and ignored that last comment. Swinging his legs briskly over the side of the bed, he pattered across the room to where a large square hung above the arch of the door. Arthur's eyes followed him as he plucked the object from the wall and slowly made his way back to his bed, pale hospital pants swishing whenever Alfred's thighs rubbed together.

Plopping down, Alfred crossed his legs and set the small, red square in his lap. He started to experimentally fiddle with it to see where the batteries were placed. Long fingers dug sharply into the back corner and Alfred stuck his tongue out, face scrunched up in concentration.

"You're going to break it," the Briton muttered to himself, attempting to seem uninterested but sparing quick glances from the corners of his eyes.

The plastic of the clock started to groan in protest the more Alfred applied pressure to it. He tightly gripped the other side with his other hand trying to get better leverage. This damned clock needed to cooperate or he was going to end up doing something he regretted. Like throw it out the window.

"It's cracking." Another protest, this time voiced a bit louder. Arthur sat up, his body shifting as best he could with minimal mobility to get a better look. He could tell something bad was going to happen. It was like a cloud of ash spewing from a volcano as a silent warning to what bigger was to come.

Another creak, this time a pale, pink line coating the outer edges of the corner that was being forced open.

"It's cracking, I said." Arthur rolled his eyes with an indignant sigh. "You're going to break it. Give it here."

"I got it."

"Apparently not. You're going to– stop. You're breaking it– it's breaking–"

"Would you be quiet a sec?" Alfred huffed, and with one final tug, the clock shattered, small pieces of plastic littering around his knees. The sound made both of them jump when the back was torn from the clock, the second hand stopping as if frozen in time.

Alfred blinked down in surprise at what used to be a loud clock before looking over towards Arthur. He was glaring. With another strained shift, the Briton turned back towards the wall he had been looking at and frowned apathetically, his interest now lost. "I told you you were going to break it."

Immediately glancing around, Alfred scooped up all the pieces he could before leaning over the side of his bed and tossing it under the sheets. He quickly shot back up, pulled his covers up to his chest and lay back against his bed.

Arthur shut his eyes and shook his head. Stupid American, he should have listened.

For once the room was completely silent, the sound of the clock killed by two pairs of hands safely tucked under the stale hospital sheets. To Arthur, he relished it. He was able to shut his eyes and just relax. It was hard to relax in a hospital, knowing constantly in the back of your mind that there was something wrong with you, something that was _hurting_ you, but without noise, the task seemed to be easier. For Alfred, it was actually worse than the ticking of the clock. At least with the clock he had something to focus on. Now his mind drifted everywhere, including the muddy corners he wished to never dwell on. He supposed that saying was correct; the one about not appreciating what you have till it's gone and stuff.

He fidgeted under his blankets and stared out the window. The sky was bright and the trees were a vibrant shade of green that was almost taunting. They were practically singing for goodness sake! Alfred mentally groaned feeling unhappy that he was being left out on all the fun that was going on out there because he was trapped in this dingy, sterile room. This dingy, sterile room with Captain Buzz kill over there sucking any potential excitement from the air with his big, fat eyebrows.

"What would you be doing right now?" he found himself asking in mild curiosity, blue eyes still staring longingly towards the window. Arthur remained quiet before opening his eyes and exhaling.

"Trying to relax," Arthur replied with a slight edge to his tone.

"I mean outside. What would you be doing if you weren't stuck in here?" Alfred asked and turned expectantly towards his companion. Arthur didn't even so much as glance at him.

"There's no point dwelling on that. I can't do it, so might as well not burden myself with those kinds of thoughts." It was the truth. He wouldn't be getting out of here for heaven knew how long. Thinking about the meeting he would be in or his dog he could be petting was pointless. It would only bring about pessimistic thoughts with how he couldn't be doing that and how pathetic he must have been. He didn't need a pity party.

Alfred cradled his arms behind his head and gazed towards the ceiling. "I'd be eating an ice cream."

"How lovely," Arthur drawled out before closing his eyes again and shifting against his pillows. He slowly began to unwind and let the American quietly mull over his stupid thoughts.

"Chocolate; double scoop. It would be dripping down the side of the cone and I'd have to lick it off my fingers because the napkin would be completely useless. Since it's so hot I'd have to eat it fast so it wouldn't turn to liquid," Alfred placed his cheek in his palm until it squished. A smile pulled at his lips. "And then I'd play a game of football since the grass would be nice and cut for summer."

Arthur tried to focus on the sound of his breathing but Alfred's words seeping into his ears slightly intrigued him.

"The game would last over an hour, no one caring if their clothes were ruined with grass stains or if anyone had mud on them. It would just be fun. I'd score a touchdown the last minute of the game winning it for my team. And then I'd go home and see my brother giving me that look; the one he usually gives me when seeing me all dirty or beat up," he laughed and sighed at the thought. It had been so long since he'd played a game of football. His bones ached – no – _yearned_ for the feeling of that pigskin is his grasp, of the feeling burning his knees as he fell onto the grass, the lightness in his chest being surrounded by friends at what they did best; hang together.

Arthur pursed his lips and stared at the wall again, looking as though torn between thoughts. Almost hesitantly he opened his mouth. "Sewing," he muttered.

Alfred turned abruptly, almost mistakenly missing Arthur's statement. "What was that?"

Arthur frowned. "Sewing. If I wasn't in here I would be sewing a patch onto my spinning wheel fabrics. It always made me calm and happy when I embroidered."

When receiving no response he curiously looked over only to regret it not a second later. Alfred's cheeks were glowing red, his hand to his mouth, and a smile so wide that it threatened to tear his face in half. Arthur scowled immediately.

"Embroidering? God, I didn't know I was bunking with a girl. You should've told me sooner so I could straighten up the place," he laughed and rustled under the covers in amusement. Arthur didn't find it humorous in the least.

He huffed and grit his teeth. "That's what I get for letting my guard down for even a moment."

For the rest of that evening, he tried his hardest to ignore the young blonde across the room. But every now and then a few snickers would reach his ears and he would clench his hands, little crescent moons forming against his palms.

* * *

_June 29_

"Hey. How do you suppose they get this little ball in here?"

Arthur kept his eyes fixed to his book, trying as intently as he could to focus on the sentence he'd been reading at least a dozen times. It seemed to be useless what with how much his roommate blabbered on.

"I haven't a clue," he muttered listlessly, eyes never leaving the book.

Alfred kept watching the bottle he was holding, some Japanese drink his friend Kiku had brought him during visiting hours. It tasted like Sprite but had a marble lodged in it. He rocked the bottle between his palms, eyes following the marble inside.

"They must put it in beforehand, right? Or else how would they get it in there?" Alfred thought aloud and tipped the bottle. The marble clinked but still remained caged inside the glass. His brow furrowed. "Or maybe they make the bottle and _then_ put the marble in. Like cut a hole in the glass and slip it inside."

Arthur squinted, his eyes ghosting over three particular words again, the meaning not quite sinking in. Alfred bit his tongue and shook the bottle, a loud clanking rattling throughout the room. Arthur abruptly put his book down.

"Please desist," he ordered. Alfred looked up curiously to the older male and stared. The Briton fidgeted and propped his book back up in his lap. The binding was hard under his fingers, a musty smell emitting from the inside.

"What are you reading?" Alfred asked after a moment, setting the empty bottle beside his bed, the mystery of the marble put aside momentarily.

"_Oliver Twist_ by Charles Dickens," Arthur answered quickly, almost mechanically.

"Sounds old."

"It is."

"Is it good?"

The book went down again. Green eyes stared annoyed into interested blue. "It would be if I could read it." Alfred tilted his head making Arthur sigh. "Stop talking."

The book went back up again. Arthur was surprised when he made it through two whole sentences before rustling reached his ears followed by a clank. He huffed and shut the book roughly, tossing it to the side and shooting the blonde a very displeased look.

"Do you have to be constantly making noise?" he asked, not really wanting nor caring about the answer. Alfred shrugged, eyes glued to his drink. "Is that really so interesting to you?" It exasperated him to no end that he was being ignored by some simpleton who was obsessed with a marble.

"It is," Alfred replied and abruptly tossed the bottle in Arthur's lap. He grinned a smile that still reached his eyes. "Tell me what you think."

"You've got to be kidding…" Arthur scoffed and nudged the bottle with his knee. The movement was soft and barely noticeable, but the marble still responded nonetheless. There was no joking in the blue orbs that were gazing at him and making his skin crawl. With a loud puff through his nostrils, Arthur gripped the bottle between his fingers.

This was absurd. Stupid, really. But despite that he did as he was told for the second time. "It's trapped," he declared. Alfred remained quiet making him turn green eyes back to the glass, wondering what it was the blonde expected to hear. "Who cares how it got in there? All that matters is that it can't get out."

"If you break the glass," Alfred suggested hopefully. Arthur pulled his lips back distastefully before tossing the bottle lethargically towards the younger boy. It skimmed the bed and clattered to the ground loudly. Arthur didn't even spare a glance as Alfred leaned over to pick it up.

Not even a scratch.

"It would take a hell of a lot to rescue that bead," he muttered.

Alfred frowned and pulled the bottle close to his chest, almost as if he was personally offended by Arthur's pessimistic answer. He glanced down at the slit keeping the marble inside. "If it was placed in through here, then it can come out through here," he declared confidently.

Arthur, without skipping a beat, "It's too narrow."

"Narrow is all it needs," Alfred chuckled quietly. The Briton shook his head and drug his fingers through his limp hair.

"Slim chance, hm? That's what you're relying on? Don't get your hopes up, chap. You're trapped just like the rest of us in this Goddamned place," Arthur said with bitterness, the sores on his calves aching. He needed to be moved again.

Alfred was quiet before he smiled taking Arthur aback. "What are you talking about? I was only referring to the marble."

Arthur stared a moment, words resting at the tip of his tongue that couldn't seem to fall. He looked scrutinous at Alfred's eyes, finding the falseness of his words there, empty shells without meaning that both of them understood so very well. He lolled his head away to keep from the sight of such an optimistic smile. Perhaps he hadn't seen that at all.

"Of course. My mistake," he murmured.

That's right. They were only talking about a marble in a bottle. That's all it was.

* * *

_July 7_

"Don't fight me with this, Alfred. I swear to God, you better not fight this time," a nurse warned and shoved a small paper cup with pills in his face. Arthur watched with quiet interest as he was assisted out of his bed by another orderly. He winced slightly, his hips cracking and joints aching. It was no longer a numb feeling that he felt when laying in bed; now it was a dull throb that made it feel like bone dragging on bone, stiffness and sharp pokes jabbing under his skin.

Blue eyes glittered in defiance, a small pout set evenly on Alfred's lips. He turned his head away, nose up in the air. "I don't need them."

"You _don't_–?" the nurse sputtered, flabbergasted. "Like hell you don't," she scoffed and made her way around the bed. In her other hand was a large inhaler, the medicine cartridge protruding out of the side like some sort of piston. "Tell me all the phlegm on your pillow is just a regular occurrence of puberty again and I won't give you water to wash these horse pills down with anymore."

"All men in my family spit when they're asleep," Alfred defended and crossed his arms matter of factly. The nurse didn't appreciate it in the slightest.

"Take your medicine."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the boy as he was placed into a wheelchair. It wasn't like he needed to be rolled around outside, but it was better than Alfred's case. He constantly fought with the staff to stop or postpone his medication every day. Because of that, he was never allowed outside as punishment. Arthur behaved and was rewarded with the opportunity to sit in the small garden outside in the courtyard. It was peaceful and didn't smell like antiseptic so he was satisfied.

"Make me."

The woman smiled humorlessly. "Don't tempt me. I'm not stupid enough to do that by myself again. You bit me last time," she said holding up her bandaged wrist. Arthur sighed. He remembered that day; she'd nearly slapped Alfred. Then again, he supposed, it would've been worth it to lose her job over such a thing. Hell, even he would do the same thing to the rebellious teenager.

Arthur shook his head. Foolish boy. Still so naïve and young.

"I promise I won't bite you again. Honest," Alfred mocked, batting his eyelashes for effect. The nurse grimaced when seeing his canines flash. Oh, she was not having this. Not today. Not on the day that her boyfriend of nearly two years broke up with her. Not on the day where she came into work smelling of fish guts because her cat vomited on her too late to change wardrobe.

Not on the day where she had found a _grey hair_.

Retracting her arm, the nurse frowned and narrowed her eyes, patience all but lost. "Fine," she admitted, defeated. "If you don't want to take your medicine today, go ahead. That's fine by me. But I won't give you sympathy when you're hacking up a lung tonight."

Alfred perked up at this, smile as bright as the sun upon hearing this good news. Arthur watched with a great deal of empathy for the woman as she retreated to the doorway. She paused a moment and turned to give Alfred one final stare.

"Tomorrow you are taking your pills, Alfred. And they will be suppositories if I can find some. And _I will_."

The woman only got a small deal of satisfaction upon seeing the horror slide onto Alfred's face before retreating down the hall. Arthur sat in his wheelchair waiting for the other nurse to come back into the room with some water and pain medication for him as he rubbed his temple.

Green eyes peered up towards Alfred who sat propped up in his bed with an indignant frown on his face, arms crossed.

"Must you be so difficult?" Arthur spoke up with slight disbelief.

Alfred blinked curiously before turning his head to watch the Briton with round, seemingly innocent eyes. "Who's being difficult? If I don't want to take that, then I shouldn't have to take it."

"Your logic is absurd. Just take your blooming medicine and you can go outside like you whine about every afternoon," Arthur suggested. Well, he really didn't care either way. But he personally didn't want to be kept up all night by spitting and coughing and wheezing. It was rather hard to sleep when you thought the person across from you was being strangled by an anaconda.

"I'm fine."

Arthur spluttered, almost laughing sarcastically towards the boy. "Yes. Yes, I suppose you're right. You must just like the smell of bedpans in the morning or the sound of a heart monitor as opposed to a radio. I can see why you would fancy such things to the point that you'd willingly stay here of your own volition. This place is quite _charming_ if I do say so myself. Rather tip-top establishment. You have lovely taste, lad, simply _lovely_."

Alfred frowned slightly upon seeing the hateful smirk being cast his way. Arthur shook his head and couldn't help but feel something sharp and spiteful stirring inside of him, and this time it wasn't his screwed up bones and muscles either. He gripped the wheelchair handles and felt offhandedly angry. It was justifiable, though.

Here was a boy so stubborn and selfish, apparently uncaring of what his friends and family thought about him being cooped up in a hospital, that he refused to take medicine that could only help his condition just because he thought he 'was fine.' Bah. Fine Arthur's ass. At least Alfred could walk or roll over or even go to the fucking _restroom_ without assistance. He had options. He could get out of here sooner rather than later.

Arthur scowled to himself and tore his eyes away from Alfred's innocent and confused stare. At least he was a marble with a small amount of hope. The top to Arthur's glass had already closed over. He was trapped in this humiliating state all because he'd forgotten to watch where he was walking for two bloody seconds.

"Hey…um, you okay?"

Arthur shot his head up and was torn out of his own self-loathing to look at Alfred who was regarding him delicately, almost concerned. Arthur felt his face heat up in mortification. Alfred shifted awkwardly. "You kinda, well, you got silent for a while and…your lip's bleeding and stuff…"

Huh? His lip? Arthur pulled his hand up to his mouth and retracted his fingers to see the foggy texture of blood against his skin. Oh. He'd bitten his lip.

"I'm quite alright," Arthur muttered quietly and stared at his lap. He didn't want to look up and risk seeing those two perceptive blue eyes. Arthur had gotten the slight feeling that Alfred wasn't as idiotic as he seemed after staying cooped up with him for nearly a month.

A nurse chose that moment to enter, not even bothering to comment on the two blonde's quiet dispositions. Arthur gratefully took the pills from the cup and swallowed them. He waited as the nurse threw the paper cups away before she grabbed the handles of his chair and started steering him towards the door.

"Enjoy the sun for me!" chimed Alfred when Arthur was almost out of earshot. He flexed his fingers over the material of his pants and shut his eyes, waiting until he could be outside at last. Outside in the courtyard he could be left alone to enjoy the breeze on his face and the sun on his skin. He could forget about the intimidating white building and the loud blonde inside. He could forget about the nursing staff constantly around when all he wanted was a damn minute of silence and peace.

He could forget about this void sending chills down his fucked up spine.

Once outside and alone at last, Arthur leaned back into his chair and simply breathed. The air out here wasn't covered with the thick sickness of pain and incapacitation. It was just air. Regular, soothing air. Blinking back the warmth from his eyes, Arthur gazed across the courtyard where his nurse sat, under the shade of the building reading a dainty little book. Other patients and visitors were scattered about conversing and laying down.

Arthur stared at a particular couple, most likely related with how similar they looked. They seemed to be arguing, however, the smaller petite Asian only looked mildly irritated from his spot at a table. He let the taller man with silk smooth hair bicker with him and managed to simply look bored and frustrated at his beverage.

Judging by his clothes, the boy was a patient at this hospital. With such a skinny and frail looking body, Arthur could tell that he most likely wasn't here by anything that could've been prevented. Then again, most patients were like that.

…Except for him.

Arthur jumped abruptly in his chair when two inky eyes glanced up at him curiously, turning his line of vision back to his nurse.

From this angle he could see his room's window up on the fifth floor. It looked much smaller than he remembered which sent something slithering down his chest. Alfred was still inside, doing God knew what he did whenever he neglected to take his meds and fought the staff. Arthur shut his eyes and let the wind blow through his fingers.

He didn't care. Whatever Alfred did on his own time wasn't any of his business. He wasn't affiliated with the boy and he didn't plan to start now.

After a long moment, Arthur was awoken by his nurse when the sun was starting to turn in for the night, the trees and buildings being painted with a rather compelling shade of orange and red. He was calmly wheeled up to his room again, sighing to himself at how quickly his free time out from the room always flew by.

When emerging through the door he was met with the familiar scene of Alfred sitting crisscrossed in his bed, blue eyes peering up at him with withdrawn intrigue. For some strange reason he was always pulling at his shirt when Arthur entered the room, only waiting until the nurses were gone and he was placed neatly back into his own bed before speaking.

It was always the same question, too.

"How was it?"

Arthur leaned back against his pillow and begrudgingly adjusted back into his old pattern of familiar sights and smells of this small hospital room. "Charming."

The same shift of the material of Alfred's pants against his sheets as he turned to watch him most likely. Arthur slowly opened his eyes, vision still on the wall.

"Oh. That's…that's good then. Was it warm?" Alfred asked curiously, a sense of watered down eagerness behind his voice.

"It _is_ July, lad," Arthur muttered. The same responses to the same dance they twirled to twice a week.

Alfred snorted. "I know that. I'm painfully aware of that. The air conditioner has to be broken or something. It's sweltering up here!"

"I'm rather comfortable," listlessly replied Arthur.

"How can you be comfortable? It has to be at least eighty degrees in here. You could fry an egg on this floor – well, maybe not _fry an egg_ exactly…but still. And you won't even believe who came in here right after you left! You know, to change the sheets and all. It was that one lady with the straight black hair and the long nails who I'm sure is the one who keeps stealing the jello I keep hiding under my pillow. Anywho, she came in and started to–"

"Let me cut you off right there," Arthur stopped him with the wave of his hand. Alfred shut his mouth and blinked his two large impossibly blue eyes towards the Briton. "Although what you are saying is probably interesting to someone on this continent somewhere, I personally do not wish to hear the rest of this story or why you've been hoarding snacks under your linen."

Arthur turned away once more, not even taking the time to see what kind of reaction his response invoked. It was silent a moment before Alfred scuttled from his bed causing enough movement for Arthur's attention to be grabbed. He watched befuddled as Alfred ducked his head under his bed, rummaging around before that familiar cowlick popped up abruptly. "What are you doing now?"

Alfred ignored him much to Arthur's irritation (not that he'd ever mention it) and started to take the cap off of his pen and scribble on a tiny envelope. After far too much time passed and Arthur's curiosity getting the better of him, he bit his lip and craned his neck. "Really. What is it you're doing? Where did you even get that?" asked Arthur skeptically. Didn't the nursing staff clean the room frequently? Arthur was sure he would have known if Alfred had stashed writing implements under his bed.

Alfred stuck out his tongue in concentration.

Arthur scowled. What…was he ignoring him? He felt a small growl building in his chest but turned away with a huff. Fine. He didn't have to tell him. He didn't care anyway.

Sitting in silence was the hardest thing to do, especially with Alfred scribbling away without a care in the world. The sun had already set when Alfred put down his pen and held the sheet of paper up close for inspection. He let his eyes run over it in satisfaction before grinned towards Arthur who felt cautious.

"Why are you looking at me like that, boy?"

Alfred hopped off his bed and started walking towards Arthur who squirmed, flustered. Damn his lack of mobility! He stared quite helpless up at the taller blonde who towered over him in his bed with a sense of accomplishment. Alfred leaned down to eyelevel making Arthur's stomach do a raw twist before taking the pale, tiny hand in his own and placing the paper in his palm.

"When you go outside next time, bring this so I can come too."

With that Alfred strolled back over to his bed and crawled under the sheets, holding it up to just below his eyes, fretful fidgeting returning. Arthur blinked owlishly before looking down at the paper in his hand.

There was a very crudely drawn picture of Alfred (at least…he thought it was Alfred) sitting under a tree and drinking a lemonade, something he hadn't been allowed to drink for a while because of his stubborn persistence to avoid his medication. It built up phlegm which wouldn't aide Alfred's already poor lungs.

Arthur stared at the picture for the longest time before finding his voice.

"You are an absolute moron, you know that?"

Alfred's rosy cheeks and hesitant smile fell away from his face as he gaped at the Briton staring blindly at his drawing. "Wha – _why_?"

Why? What a stupid question. Arthur traced the lines of Alfred's simple cartoon with his eyes before letting out a breath through his nostrils. This was obviously a moronic picture. It was so basic and simple and the gesture was inexplicably, impeccably childish yet extremely enticing. It actually made Arthur want to smile.

He didn't, though, because he didn't want any kind gesture to blow up Alfred's already annoying ego.

Instead he just kept his eyes glued to the paper, fingers flexing over it and ran his tongue over his teeth.

"Stupid…" he muttered under his breath and slowly shook his head.

What an… endearingly stupid thing to do.

"Why am I a moron?" Alfred asked, frowning now in displeasure. He still had his sheets fisted just below his collarbone making Arthur finally take notice of what he hadn't been paying attention to all along. Alfred may have looked like a somewhat grown individual but he still had a very childish way of thinking, of going about things.

Arthur ran his fingers over the picture. Although, that wasn't to say having such a way of functioning was a bad thing…

Forcing the lump down his throat, Arthur put up his regular annoyed façade and crumpled the paper in his fist. Alfred gaped, eyes widening in horrified shock. "If you want to be outside so much then do as you're told. I'm not taking this with me."

A tiny string of humor bubbled inside him at the pure outrage on the younger boy's face, the first time he'd felt this way in a long time. At least since he'd had his accident.

Alfred sputtered over his words a moment before settling on shaking his head rapidly. "You – you – I…UGH! Fine. Don't do me any favors then. But I'm not eating those nasty pills because they taste like cat piss!" With a huff, he tugged the sheets over his head and turned so his back was to Arthur.

Arthur felt his lip twitching upwards but held it down, instead deciding to shrug off the outburst and lay back himself. He silently smoothed out the crinkles of the picture and hid it under his pillow when the lights were shut off.

Every cough and wheeze he heard later in the night, he reassuringly patted the envelope.

An Alfred under the sun was much more preferred than the sick one drowning in his own mucus.

He had plentiful dreams that night, just the two of them. He had been able to carry all of the picnic supplies on his own and had sat down under a large oak tree on a hill. Alfred smiled at him with an unimaginable brightness that could rival the sun.

The blonde had drunken so much lemonade he didn't know what to do with himself.

* * *

_July 31_

"I met someone today."

Arthur hummed in a silent reply, a simple noncommittal action. He kept his gaze down at his book even as Alfred rocked back and forth by the window, staring out into the courtyard with fixed interest.

"Uh-huh. I saw him when I snuck out earlier. To find a better bathroom, I mean. Since our toilet's clogged and all…" Alfred said more so to himself, eyes flickering over the many heads outside, trying to put a name to a face. "His name's Lud-something."

"That's nice," commented Arthur absentmindedly as he turned his page. He had gotten accustomed to Alfred's mannerisms and speeches so long that he wasn't nearly as bothered as he used to be. He hated to think if the boy was growing on him. Heaven knew he didn't need that kind of baggage.

Arthur stopped mid-turn when Alfred coughed rather roughly into his hand. Green eyes flickered up to watch in slight fascination as Alfred's shoulders shook, body leaning forward as painfully moist coughs tore through his lungs. He paused.

That – _that_ he was still not used to. No matter how many times it happened in a day, Arthur was still uncomfortable with the rising number of coughs consuming the blonde American.

He waited quietly until they subsided, Alfred clearing his throat and giving a sniffle before going back to his task of discerning faces of the staff, visitors, and patients.

"Yeah. He was by the bathroom washing his hands. He's not a patient here either. Said his brother's the one who's sick. Got him trapped up in the loony bin for some lacerations or somethin'," informed Alfred as he crinkled his nose. Arthur frowned. Mental psychiatric care should not be so _elegantly _referred to as the 'loony bin.'

Arthur ran his eyes over Alfred's back carefully before gradually turning back to his book. "You shouldn't concern yourself with something like that. It's pointless to worry over something that doesn't concern you."

Alfred blinked before craning his neck over his shoulder to get a better look at Arthur. "I'm not concernin' myself with anyone. I'm just saying I met someone whose brother is a nutcase."

A scowl. "Don't judge, Alfred. You don't know the personal lives of others that lead them to do such things." When had he started calling Alfred by his name?

Alfred seemed to ponder this for half a second before brushing it off with a shrug. "He looked really tired even though he said he was fine. I can tell he comes here a lot. Heck, even I'd be upset if I had a brother and he was as unpredictable as his. Can't be good on his brain."

"No, I surmise not," Arthur responded, silently recalling a time where he'd thought a boy identical to Alfred had visited him before. He did have a brother, didn't he?

Alfred looked back out the window with a smile, hands on the windowsill. "He said I could meet him if I wanted."

"That's wonderful," murmured Arthur before Alfred's words played on a loop in his brain, words sharp like blades. His head shot up. "…Pardon me?"

Alfred grinned. "I was thinkin' about visiting Ludburg's brother sometime."

…There was that delay again. A _definite_ delay.

"No you aren't."

Alfred shifted back around with confused eyes. "Aren't what?"

"You aren't going to the mental ward," said Arthur matter-of-factly. He personally didn't care about the look Alfred gave him that made him feel very old and very fatherly. He did not want to feel fatherly, especially towards Alfred.

…Wait, what?

Arthur shook his head quickly and ignored that last thought. He'd been around the smell of window cleaner too long. Alfred crinkled his nose before erupting into another fit of coughs that made Arthur's skin crawl. He could feel the force from all the way on the other side of the room.

"What makes you say that?" asked Alfred after his coughs subsided. Arthur resisted the urge to cringe when he wiped his mucus stained hands on his pants.

"For starters, you're ill. That is why your family put you in the hospital, I assume. You can't go waltzing around a medical facility and spreading God knows what's ailing you. Aside from that, it's a _mental ward_. You should not be wandering around there under no supervision with a strange–"

"I wouldn't be alone. That Lud guy will be there with me," Alfred protested despite Arthur's frown deepening, book all but abandoned.

"That's not the point. And furthermore, you aren't supposed to be let out of this room without permission. You simply _can't _visit some stranger's suicidal brother."

Alfred pouted and furrowed his brows, tugging at the sleeve of his shirt. Arthur didn't shake in his resolve either. He stared Alfred down, his hand sliding off the side of the bed to rest lightly on the nurse call button.

"…I can if you don't tell on me," Alfred finally said after a moment, eyes taking on a different tone; a tone that radiated how much he wanted a favor done. Arthur stilled.

"Absolutely not."

"But Arthur–"

"I am not covering for you. I can't anyway – look at me! I can't even manage to stand upright on my own for more than ten seconds. How the devil do you suppose I keep the faculty away from that door? That's absurd," argued the irritated Englishman gesturing to his legs. Alfred winced slightly at the pitchiness of his voice and how miserable he'd sounded when talking about his condition. Alfred still hadn't a clue how Arthur had practically lost all mobility, but he did have a great deal of sympathy for him. At least, until he got too mad and started screaming at the nurses and Alfred like he would kill them if able.

Alfred was fluttering over to the vehement Briton with arms waving in reassurance, Arthur cringing back when hands clasped onto his shoulders. "See, that's the beauty of it. You don't have to do anything but not press that call button," he said, hand drifting down to pull Arthur's away from the button on the side of his bed. Arthur stiffened. "I can just slip out and snag some spare scrubs lying around so no one gets suspicious and meet Lud-something or other when he arrives for visiting hours. Plus I'll be outta your hair for an hour or two. I know how much you'll love that and it'll kill two birds with one stone!"

Alfred's logic wasn't _all_ bad but it was extremely risky. What if Alfred _did _get caught? Would he be scolded or sedated? Or perhaps this Lud-fellow's brother was unstable and would harm Alfred if he was spooked easily. Arthur furrowed his brow wearily, not much liking either of those outcomes no matter how much the young American deserved it. Would he be transferred rooms–

"I refuse," he snapped and smacked Alfred's hands away from him. "Now stop this nonsense and go back to your side of the room. I don't want to hear anymore of this kind of talk. If I do, I'll report you."

Alfred reeled back with a stubborn pout, unable to keep the disappointed gleam from his eyes as he sulked back over to his bed and plopped down. Arthur felt a growl building in his chest at the feeling of wanting to retract his words at Alfred's actions. Why did he have the right to act like some damned kicked puppy?

"You're such a stick in the mud," grumbled Alfred, picking at a messy fringe on his sheets.

Arthur propped his book back up in his lap without even batting an eyelash. "That's all a matter of opinion, I'm afraid."

Alfred frowned, poking his lower lip out dejectedly. "No. You're just a grumpy, old man."

Arthur frowned but tried to focus on his book.

Alfred pulled at a thread. "Who doesn't know how to have fun."

Arthur's fingers gripped the binding tighter.

"And takes his frustrations out on me."

Gritted teeth.

"And smells like the moldy books you read."

Simmering anger.

"And has the biggest eyebrows I've ever seen in my entire–"

The book slammed down. "Now, you listen here-!" Arthur erupted, sharp eyes turning to bore into the teenager across from him, ready to let Alfred have it for pestering him with something so inane and stupid, before Alfred buckled over, torso collapsing against his knees as his body shook with violent tremors. Arthur stopped, shutting his mouth immediately, when watching what looked like Alfred choking on air itself.

That guilt was back, swimming around in his abdomen as he watched Alfred's face contort with the efforts to expel some unseen amount of liquid building inside the inner casings of his lungs. As Arthur watched Alfred's coughing fit that seemed to grow in numbers each day, he bit his tongue in an unfamiliar emotion. He glanced away feebly when Alfred had calmed down, groaning at a long thread of slime and saliva dripping from his lip before snapping off.

In a mixture of disgust and empathy, Arthur clenched his fists at his side and growled.

"…Alright."

Alfred gagged and wiped his mouth with his arm before casting blue eyes towards the irritated gentleman staring at his feet. "Huh? You say something?"

Arthur sighed heavily. "I said…alright. Fine. I will not tattle on you if you so choose to see some unstable lunatic."

He instantly regretted his words when he was found in a nearly painful embrace, Alfred's arms encircling his head despite how disgusted and paranoid Arthur was to not let the mucus on the shirt touch him. "But – _but_!" he cried, shoving Alfred away far enough to get his point across. He didn't care how bored Alfred was in this room, or how much he wanted to meet new people but was unable to in this building. He wasn't going to do any favors without something given in return.

Alfred blinked down at him expectantly with impossibly glittery eyes that made Arthur want to gag and shy away simultaneously. "But from now on you must take your medication and inhalers every day. No fighting either."

The smile was gone, Alfred retreated away from Arthur, thwarted. "Wh-what? That's – no – _why_? Aw, c'mon, Arthur. You're not serious are you?"

Arthur shook his head hollowly. "As a heart attack." Another joke never to use in a hospital.

"But…it tastes like cat–"

"Oh, rubbish. It's one minute of your life and then you can finally stop waking me up at night." Arthur glanced up through half-lidded eyes at the pouting teenager. "Then again, no one is holding a gun to your head. You don't _have_ to go with some fellow out on visiting hours to see his relative. You can simply stay in here and look out the window and count the cracks in the ceiling."

It was a very satisfying feeling to see Alfred bend to his will unknowingly. When the unhappy little "fine" was uttered from his lips, Arthur shared a silent victory when Alfred was silent the rest of the afternoon.

Although, somewhere in the back of his mind he knew the effect of this feeling was much stronger due to the fact that Alfred's coughing had lessened the next few days.

* * *

_August 27  
_

It was almost a miracle. It had to be. At least, that's what Alfred had said to him the moment the nurse had passed the news.

After countless surgeries and horribly intense bed sores, the start of physical therapy ready to rear its ugly head, Arthur could finally manage to stand up on his own without nearly going blind from pain. Now, given he could only do it for eighty nine seconds before he became breathless and had to sit down.

Still. Progress was progress and if it meant that Arthur wasn't going to be a cripple paraplegic or like that brash fellow with the cane and vicodin on the telly then he was tip-top about it.

And despite himself, he hadn't been able to keep the joviality from his voice. However, he did not grin ear to ear like he wanted to. He still had some dignity after all.

And yet, Alfred did not greet him with the broad smile he expected from the boy. He rolled himself into the room and announced the news but Alfred simply stared in what seemed like shock.

After a long moment of silence, what seemed like forever, Arthur unbeknownst to him that he had held his breath the entire time waiting for a response, Alfred put on a plastic smile. His muscles in his face lagged, shutting his eyes with the biggest smile he could muster, which was really a very sad excuse.

"That's great!" he'd said but Arthur found himself frowning, the feeling of excitement being nearly snuffed out by Alfred's lethargic demeanor.

He had bags under his eyes, and although he'd been taking his medicine like he'd promised, Alfred didn't seem to be making the progress that Arthur had thought he would. In fact, the brightness he'd emitted when first walking into the hospital room as Arthur's roommate seemed to dull.

Much like a candle, Alfred's enthusiasm was dying out with the long melting of the wick.

And no matter how hard Arthur denied it, he was starting to increasingly worry.

He blamed it on the depression that the fall weather started to bring. It was much more bearable that way.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: This one seems longer than the last. Oh boy. Yet again, take a deep breath and try not to be overwhelmed by the size. It's finally done! : ) Any spelling mistakes I will fix later.

Enjoy.

* * *

_September 23_

"How come you never have any visitors?"

Arthur sighed deeply, knowing that even though Alfred wasn't a perceptive chap, he'd still eventually figure out how alone Arthur was whenever the room was full of young teenagers. God, did that make him feel old.

"I like my privacy," he explained instead, hoping his answer would suffice. Judging by the snort Alfred emitted, Arthur presumed not.

"Nobody likes privacy _that_ much. C'mon, spill it. I know you want to."

Arthur scowled at the blonde's suggestive eyebrow movements before conceding. They'd danced to this tune before. No sense carrying on when Arthur knew Alfred would continue to pester and use his puppy-dog eyes to get his way. Arthur was still thoroughly perplexed as to when he lost his immunity to such tactics.

"I work a lot and don't keep close connections to people. Occasionally I will go out to lunch but it's rare considering the bunch of tossers I work with." He scowled as a certain Frenchman who would remain unnamed flashed into his mind.

Alfred was silent for so long that Arthur became curious if the boy had already moved onto something else. Heaven knew how tiny his attention span was. He glanced over to see Alfred giving him the oddest look he had ever seen.

"Wow. That's…really pathetic."

Arthur bristled. "Excuse me?"

"Man, that's so sad. So you're basically saying you're a workaholic who doesn't have friends? Cut me to the core, dude. I'm cryin' for ya." Alfred patted at his heart sympathetically.

Arthur flushed, mortified. He didn't much like the idea of gaining any sympathy from someone like _Alfred_. "Don't do me any favors."

"So, what? What about your family? You gotta have family," Alfred inquired, leaning forward against his bed sheets.

Arthur pursed his lips. "My parents are no longer living. As for my relatives…my brothers are back in Europe. Needless to say, we do not get along. If they were here, the circumstances wouldn't be any different."

Arthur flinched when seeing a small trace of grief flutter behind Alfred's eyes. He frowned stubbornly. "Don't look at me like that," he ordered. He didn't like the feeling of Alfred feeling sorry for him. "Don't you look at me like that. I already explained that I do not mind. I enjoy my privacy."

Alfred shifted. "But…that's gotta suck and stuff! You're tellin' me you live alone with no friends or family?" Alfred's eyes bugged. He couldn't seem to wrap his mind around this.

"I have a dog."

Blinking, the American relaxed somewhat. "Oh. Well that's something at least. I didn't know you were a dog person."

Arthur sighed. "You don't have to be a certain kind of person to like dogs."

"So what's his…her? Its name? Where's it staying? Since…you know," he drifted off, motioning to Arthur's legs.

The Briton paused. "I had to give him away. There's no one to take care of him while I'm here."

Arthur literally jumped when Alfred fell face first into his mattress with an agonized groan. "That's horrible!"

"It is not. I wasn't that partial to him," Arthur lied to ease the distressed boy.

"You're kidding! I don't believe you. That's man's best friend we're talking about!"

"It's alright."

"No, it's not."

"And why is that, lad?" Arthur asked, crossing his arms.

"Because when you get out and leave me here, I'll feel bad," came the muffled response against a pillow.

Arthur paused, somewhat jarred. "Pardon?"

Alfred kept his face hidden, though his ears looked like brightly lit cloves. "…When you get out of here and leave me, at least I'll still have friends from school and stuff visiting. You won't have anyone. And that _sucks_."

It took a good thirty seconds for Arthur to finally comprehend the meaning behind Alfred's words. Was he – was he checking up on him? Was Alfred actually somewhat mildly _concerned_ about him? Arthur placed his hand over his heart as if the action would make it slow down at this sudden realization. Alfred was concerned for him. And furthermore, he thought Arthur was getting out before him. Arthur wasn't sure he liked that assessment but remained silent. When he received no response, Alfred peeked out from his pillow.

Arthur took that as his cue to say something. "Well…" he pulled at his collar nervously. "If-if I do find myself becoming…lonely, I perhaps could come and – come back and visit you possibly?"

Alfred blinked slowly before pushing his face back into his pillow. "I wouldn't make you do that."

Of course. That had been a stupid thing to say. Arthur tried to seem distracted with the fringe of his shirt. "Right. I wouldn't want to bother you–"

"You wouldn't be bothering me! I just don't want to bother _you_."

"_Me_? How would that bother me?" Arthur raised his eyebrow.

Alfred shrugged. "You know. With your legs and all…"

Arthur could feel the familiar bite of anger boiling inside his abdomen. This stupid boy always knew how to drag it out somehow. "Listen here, I'm not made of glass. You don't have to keep looking at me like I'm some pathetic cripple who can't even feed himself."

"I don't do that," Alfred denied with a frown. Though he denied it, Arthur could still see something floating in the back of Alfred's eyes that said he believed otherwise.

Arthur scoffed. "Oh, please. Don't think I don't notice how you look at me when I'm moved or try to stand up or even walk. I'm not that daft, boy. You look about ready to spring out of bed and find a cane for me."

"Hey, you should be lucky I care at all! When you can walk up a flight of stairs, I'll take your word for it," Alfred defended and sat up. The mood had shifted from sympathy, to something slightly warm and perhaps a little bashful, to an awkward tenseness. It felt like day one all over again. Was there really no progress in civility between the two?

"Well don't trouble yourself. The sooner I get out of here the better. I can't believe I even offered to…" Arthur trailed off and glared at the wall, teeth grit. He couldn't even stand to look at Alfred. It would be his pity that crippled him, not his accident in the end.

"Oh, don't be like that. You're being immature."

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black."

"…Yeah, I don't even know what that means."

Green eyes glanced over towards the teenager watching him in the bed and scowled. "Look, do us both a favor and just – just keep to yourself for the remainder of our stay. It would do us both some good." He quickly wretched his eyes away before he could fully comprehend the confusion and, was that hurt?, in Alfred's eyes.

Silence stretched on for a good moment before the sound of cloth against sheets reached Arthur's ears. "Fine."

* * *

_October 1_

Arthur heard a loud crash ahead as he was being wheeled down the hallway. He shifted and furrowed his brow. That sounded very close to where his room was. Distant shouts and another crash made the nurse wheeling Arthur pick up her pace slightly, confusing the Briton.

He sighed, realizing it had to have something to do with Alfred. The boy was always causing trouble. When the nurse pushed Arthur through the doorway she jumped, a bedpan flying right past her head and out into the hallway. Arthur flinched before shifting his vision to the mess about the floor. There were scattered peas and potatoes, even a bowl of soup sloshed against the tiles. Arthur looked down and noticed an inhaler by his wheelchair, pills sprinkled in here and there on the white tiles.

Oh God. What was going on now?

Alfred was breathing heavily, arm out defensively by the window with tears streaming down his face. He was glaring daggers at his nurse, the one who he used to bite when given his medication early in his stay. Despite the absurdity of the situation, Arthur couldn't help the jolt of nervousness that reached him at the thought of Alfred starting to refuse his medication again. They'd had a _deal_.

"What's going on?" he asked cautiously.

The young looking nurse, Alfred's nurse, heaved a heavy sigh before risking a glance towards Arthur and his aide. "It's a bad day."

Arthur hated those days. Even though Alfred got on his nerves a lot, he had somehow snuck into his soft spot in the long time they'd been staying together. Oh Lord, he'd never admit it aloud, though.

"He's not going to take them. Could you get a broom?" she asked the nurse behind Arthur who nodded and made to leave when Alfred bit out a frustrated sob.

"It's not fair! You said I could if I was good. Fuck! I was good, wasn't I?" he demanded, cheeks red and eyes puffy. The sight wasn't something Arthur liked to see.

"What do you want me to do?" the nurse said with little interest, nails running through her hair. "I can't make it stop raining."

"But you promised!" Alfred yelled, looking near desperate. He kicked at his bed. "I took your stupid medicine so let me go outside!"

"It's. Raining," the nurse annunciated. She looked worn down, obviously not wanting to deal with Alfred's frustrated temper tantrum.

"I don't care. A little water never killed anybody," Alfred tried, his voice quivering. He couldn't do it anymore. Those pills made him sick and he had to take them twice a day now because he was congested or something and now when he was finally going to go outside, it was _raining_. It wasn't fair. He pushed his hands into his hair and shook his head. Why wouldn't they just let him outside? Just for a minute?

"Look, just get into bed and I'll have this mess cleaned up and bring you some more food. You can go outside in a couple of days if it's not raining anymore," the nurse tried to reason. Alfred took a step back, his shoulders shaking.

"It's not fair."

"Life's not fair," the woman countered. Alfred's face contorted into something almost painful as he let out an agonized moan.

"Just let me outside…I can't stay in here anymore. I'm going crazy, please. I'll take every pill, eat every vegetable, compliment even the worst person on the staff, just _please_."

"Thank you," the young nurse said as Arthur's aide returned with some cleaning supplies. Alfred huffed when seeing the woman ignore him. She didn't even care, did she? She thought it was funny to see him squirm in this white walled prison. He sniffled and ground his teeth together.

"God, somebody kill me."

Arthur felt his chest swell with something horrifying hearing those words muttered from Alfred's mouth. The stuffy room felt even harder to breathe in with this disbelief fluttering through the Englishman's bloodstream. Alfred really was just a child, wasn't he? He was immature and selfish and just plain bratty. Arthur wished he could stand so he could slap him across the face.

"You promised, Alfred," Arthur said lightly, hoping to get Alfred's attention. With the anger in his tone, Alfred had no choice but to look at the frowning Briton by the door. Big blue eyes blinked back tears and stared confused towards Arthur. Arthur just watched him with a level gaze and picked up the inhaler. "You promised."

The nurse glanced between the two, completely left out and perplexed, before Arthur started wheeling himself towards his bed. The nurse who had been with him was at his side in second, though he batted her away. With pain radiating down to his kneecaps, Arthur hauled himself onto his mattress with heavy breaths. He flexed his toes experimentally before resting his head back against his pillow. He couldn't wait till he could do that without the pain.

"Alfred, get into bed," his nurse instructed, broom in her other hand. This brought the blonde's attention away from staring distantly at Arthur before settling on the frowning woman. "I'm sorry, but I cannot permit you to wander around unsupervised. Into bed," she pointed.

The lump in Alfred's throat bobbed as he thought over his options. He could continue to scream and argue and cry until he was breathless (which coincidentally didn't take that much), or he could crawl into bed and suck it up despite the ache in his chest at the rainy sky. Although he wanted to keep yelling at the nurse to vent out his frustrations, the urge was dampened by the look of sheer disappointment across Arthur's face.

Begrudgingly he flopped onto his bed and wiped at his nose with the sleeves of his shirt. To say that it was awkward while the nurses cleaned up the mess on the floor would've been an understatement. It was brutal to sit on his bed and avoid eye contact with the staff as they mopped up his mess, but it was much worse feeling the pressure at the side of his face where Arthur was no doubt staring at him.

When the women vacated the room Alfred was left feeling like an utter child, fidgeting like mad and pulling at his sheets to distract himself. The silence pressed on with astounding vigor, pushing down on his skin and making it harder to gain access to air into his lungs. When a voice reached his ears, Alfred stilled.

"Brat."

Alfred blinked down with blurry vision at his feet before managing to move his tongue. "What?"

He looked up hesitantly to find that Arthur was not looking at him anymore, but staring at the wall by the door. The look on his face made him nervous. Arthur frowned to himself and let out a puff of air through his nostrils. "You're a spoiled brat."

Alfred opened his mouth to say something before he shut it just as quickly. He looked away and ran his tongue over his lips, unsure of what to say. The absolute irritation in Arthur's voice sent tremors rocketing down to his core. "I just can't sit in here anymore," he explained after another long string of silence passed between them. Alfred clenched his fingers over his calves and hoped that Arthur would understand the reasons behind his action.

Not that it mattered. He shouldn't care what Arthur thought about him. He didn't – that's right – he _didn't_ care what Arthur thought about him.

The Briton scoffed. "Welcome to the club."

Alfred glanced back over at his roommate who still refused to look at him. Arthur watched the inhaler in his hands, examining everything about the discarded medicine that should've been in Alfred's system by now had it not been for the rain. He scowled. Damn rain. It was ruining everything he was doing to help…to help an innocent boy out of the hospital.

"You're not in it," Alfred countered with a sniffle.

"I'm a senior member, boy," Arthur snapped, eyes sharp as ever.

"It's not my fault you're old–"

"That's not what I meant and you know it!" Arthur shot up in bed with a wince, teeth grit in aggravation. "That's all you do, don't you? Make smartalic comments when the mood strikes you and stomp around when you don't get your way. Why don't you grow up? You don't take anything seriously." _You don't take me seriously_. Arthur frowned at the inhaler in his hands.

"I-I do too–"

"No you don't! You never do, Alfred! You're just a spoiled brat who doesn't know how good he has it. If you'd just take your damn medication and cooperate then maybe, just maybe, you could be out of here in a matter of weeks. _Days_ even! But you don't care about that do you? If there's anything slightly alarming with a situation you evade it like the plague. You avoid it and cause problems for everyone around you." Arthur paused to fill his lungs with the much needed oxygen as he watched Alfred's large eyes get even larger, shoulders slumping back like a wounded animal. "Well you know what? I don't care anymore. Do what you will, Alfred. You don't have to live up to the deal we made. Take your medicine, don't. It doesn't matter to me either way."

He placed the inhaler on the nightstand by his bed before turning his head away. If Alfred wanted to kill himself, fine. Let him.

"Arthur–"

"Don't worry," Arthur cut him off with a cold voice of indifference. He was fed up. "I won't rat you out to the staff for sneaking out."

The conversation died instantly.

No more frustrated words. No more sympathetic excuses. No more yelling. No more defending. Nothing but lone sniffles few and far between as they accompanied the hollow pattering of the rain against the window.

The night dragged on longer than Arthur cared to admit. He rolled so his back was facing Alfred and pretended to be asleep as the blonde gagged on his own mucus buildup. He bent the pillow over his ears to block out the noises and clenched his eyes shut, not allowing himself to feel sorry for the boy. And yet with every cough something broke apart inside of him.

_You're spoiled, Alfred._

* * *

_October 12_

The first time Arthur had been able to walk himself to the bathroom instead of using a bedpan was the first time Arthur walked back in on a nurse and doctor finishing up Alfred's chest examination. The Briton hung onto the rod that assisted his short little walk as he stared at the people feeling down Alfred's back and asking him to breathe.

Arthur paused, eyes glancing briefly over the tanned skin of Alfred's arms and abdomen. He was not lying when he'd said he liked to play sports outside a lot. Arthur quickly glanced away and made his way towards his bed when Alfred peered up behind the fringe of his bangs at him.

Physical therapy was a bitch, as well as the current nutritional and pain reliever pills his doctor was throwing at him, but after all this time he'd finally been making some progress. No more bedsores. Arthur wanted to fall to his knees and thank whoever was watching over him but knew that would probably be a bad idea. They'd probably shatter under his weight anyway.

"Now take one more deep breath," the doctor instructed. Alfred sighed, just wanting to put his shirt back on. It was freezing and he hated the cold with a passion. And the doctor just brought more cold with him; his stethoscope, his hands, etc.

He inhaled in, flinching when the cold disc of the stethoscope touched his back, before slumping forward and coughing. It sounded heavier much to Arthur's chagrin. He shook his head quickly. No, he said he didn't care what Alfred did anymore. He didn't.

"Oh dear."

Arthur looked up as the doctor straightened, frown pulling at his lips. He felt himself still as the man and nurse exchanged a quick glance. The doctor leaned back up and straightened his coat out, nodding down towards Alfred who thankfully started to put his shirt back on. "We're going to have to do that thing we talked about, Alfred, I'm afraid," the doctor informed.

Alfred stiffened, eyes staring intently at his sheets, making no move to his doctor's statement. The man patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Don't worry. It's not as bad as it sounds. We'll do it tomorrow morning, alright?"

Alfred continued to stare at his mattress before slowly nodding his head, as if he didn't want to agree but was forced too. Another pat to his shoulder and the man and nurse vacated the area. Arthur hunkered down into his own bed and felt the familiar nagging of curiosity at the base of his skull.

Yes, he and Alfred had been fighting a lot recently, but Arthur still couldn't help but feel interested in Alfred's health. He silently wondered to himself if Alfred still cared about his.

Wanting to take an indirect approach after a while, Arthur pretended to be indifferent and opened the water bottle by his bed. "What was that all about?"

Alfred didn't respond, still frozen in the position he had been in when the doctor had left. He looked exhausted and Arthur couldn't help but feel a little sorry for him. Alfred had been coughing most nights so he barely had gotten any sleep. Large craters were the outcome of that resting under his eyes. Arthur had some of his own, but not nearly as bad. When Alfred coughed he stayed awake as well.

After a minute the blonde finally straightened up a bit, though his eyes remained on that one spot on his mattress. "It's not getting better."

Arthur paused before swallowing the water in his mouth. "Yes, I've been aware of that. You haven't been taking your medication for over a week now. It's not surprising."

Alfred's eyes were somewhat distant, as if he couldn't cope with what his doctor had told him. Arthur narrowed his eyes slightly in suspicion. What was plaguing his mind?

Just when he'd been about to open his mouth and ask, Alfred spoke. "They're going to stick a needle in my back."

Arthur stared. "A what?"

Alfred's breath shuddered, as if the realization had just started to hit him in waves. "A needle. They're going to stick a long needle in my back tomorrow to get to my lungs to – to drain some of the fluid buildup. It's to release…release some pressure or something."

Ah, so that was it. Arthur had suspected such. He leaned back against his pillow. "Well isn't that lovely," he said blandly, masking his satisfaction with apathy. "You should be happy. You won't keep me up anymore with your God awful wheezing."

Alfred's eyes widened in horror as his shoulders shook. "I can't do it. I can't sit and let someone stick a huge needle into my lungs when I'm still awake. They can't do that!" Panicked blue eyes sought out surprised green for some form of bizarre comfort. "They're going to stick a needle in me," he clarified in terror.

Arthur shifted, unsure of how to respond. He was supposed to pretend to be on bad terms with the boy, never expecting him to freak out over a mere needle; a procedure that only needed to be done because of Alfred's own stupidity.

"You'll be fine," Arthur informed, waving off Alfred's panic easily. Alfred coughed harshly into his fist and wiped it off on his sheets making Arthur grimace.

"No. I can't do it. Tell them to put me out."

"I won't."

"_Why_?"

"It's none of my business what you do anymore. I told you that myself. And besides, you're a big chap. You'll do fine. Something as trivial as a needle shouldn't scare you–" Arthur choked back his words and nearly fell out of his bed when Alfred was in front of him in a second, looking as desperate as ever.

"Arthur, you have to understand. You do, don't you? You know what it's like to go through surgeries and stuff. I've seen them prepare you for some. Imagine going through all of that _awake_," Alfred reasoned, grasping at Arthur in some small plea to get him to understand. The Briton felt his head spin when Alfred's hands brushed against his own. He inhaled sharply through his nose and forced coherent thoughts through his mind.

Weakly, he tried to snatch his hands away to no avail. "Comparing extensive hip and knee surgery to a needle in your lungs doesn't even relate. They are on completely different levels."

"No they're not. No they're not," Alfred shook his head. His grip tightened on Arthur who tensed at the warmth over his hands.

"They are. I understand that you've never done anything like this, however, it's no reason to be–"

Alfred leaned in and frowned, halting Arthur's speech. "I don't want to. I'll take my inhaler. I mean it this time."

Arthur stared at him with perplexity. "That-that may be so, but I don't think it would make any difference. You still have to undergo this procedure, Alfred."

The look of sheer distress that radiated behind Alfred's eyes made Arthur visibly cringe. With a sense of frustration, the American crawled off Arthur's bed and made his way dejectedly back towards his own. He curled up and kept his back to his roommate who was chewing at their bottom lip with a frown.

It will be alright, Alfred. You'll be fine, don't worry, Arthur reassured himself in his mind. At this point in time he couldn't say that to Alfred, but at least he could think it to himself.

In the morning when Arthur awoke, Alfred was nowhere to be seen. He straightened himself out and began to read up on one of the many books he had brought in by one of his neighbor's on a favor. Being on disability leave from work had given him a lot of time to relax so to speak and do things he didn't normally get a chance to do.

The afternoon rolled around and still no sign of Alfred. Arthur patiently sat quietly and smoothed over every wrinkle on his sheets. By the time the nurse came in to change the linen, Arthur had cracked and asked her quite casually where Alfred was.

She informed him that his procedure had some complications. The attendant who performed it had been slightly inaccurate causing a collapsed lung.

The room was silent the rest of the day.

* * *

_October 20_

"Rain, rain, go away…" Alfred muttered to himself as he stared out the window at the clouded sky. He now hated October. It was one thing to make him spend his nineteenth birthday here, but it was another to keep him away from the one holiday where he could stuff his face with candy. He sighed lightly, chest feeling heavy the past few days.

"I want to go outside," he whined.

Arthur didn't reprimand him for it anymore. He was no longer angry with Alfred for the trivial fights they'd been having, and considering how unfair it had been for his own progress to grow while Alfred's declined rapidly, Arthur found it impossible to scold the boy any more than necessary.

"Be patient," the Briton offered instead. He found his eyes lingering longer against Alfred's dismal frame more often than he used to. Even melancholy, Alfred still managed to capture all the brightness in the room.

Alfred's shoulders slumped and he yawned. His movements had been slower the last few days; he was impossibly tired. "I know."

Arthur patted his thighs lightly on his sheets before mulling over what to say. It had been awkward between the two of them since Alfred's near panic attack. The blonde had been acting somewhat distant, which was understandable, but still.

"We could play a game if you want," Arthur offered. He didn't really know any games, but if it would distract Alfred from spiraling into a pit of boredom where there were alligators at the bottom. Alligators called depression.

Alfred lolled his head to the side, still staring out the window. He didn't respond at all except for a small hum in the back of his throat. Arthur sat up. "We could play a game," Arthur repeated, eyes drawn solely on Alfred's slumped frame. That got the boy's attention finally.

Alfred turned his tired eyes to look back at Arthur curiously. He eyed him suspiciously. "What kind of game?"

"I don't bloody well know. What sort of games do you American children like to play? Marbles or I spy?" Arthur scratched at his head drawing a blank. He probably should've thought about any games before suggesting it. Alfred let out a small chuckle at that, the mirth behind his eyes captivating Arthur.

Well at least the boy was still capable of smiling.

"You really are old, aren't you?" he asked.

Arthur frowned, prominent scowl lines lining his face. He'd gotten used to them when he was small, never smiling that much. Perhaps that was why he was put into a room with Alfred. Yin to Yang or something like that. "Please don't start guessing my age again. I already informed you that I will not say. Who knows what you consider _old_."

Alfred grinned a lopsided grin. "Even a month older than me is old."

"My point exactly."

The room became silent once more, the cold air permeating around the dull corners of the room, rain tapping against the glass as if it wanted to get someone's attention. Alfred looked back at the glass and stared a long while. "We could play truth or dare," he muttered.

Arthur paused. That sounded like a horrible game. You either had to let out a secret about yourself or do something positively ridiculous. He couldn't say no when Alfred looked back at him with a yawn, a heavy breath being torn from inside him. With a sigh, he caved. "Sure, yes. We can play truth or dare."

"I'll start first then," Alfred said, shifting around so he could face Arthur. He winced a little but settled down, ignoring the slight knitting of a concerned brow at the action. "Truth or dare, Arthur?"

"Truth, obviously." No way was he risking Alfred daring him to do something like streak down to the nurse's station or eat his next meal in a bedpan.

Alfred rubbed his chin in thought. "How old are you?"

Arthur choked on his air, fingers curling into fists at his sides as Alfred snickered a sly laugh. "Sodding wanker. You did that on purpose!" Oh, he felt his face heat up with indignation. He already felt old; it wasn't like he wanted another person who was younger than him to see him as an old man.

"You walked into that one yourself," commented Alfred.

Arthur struggled with himself before conceding. Damn it. "I'm older than twenty-five but less than thirty-five."

"Hey, that's not specific enough," whined Alfred with a pout. "You're not playing right."

"Feel lucky I gave you an age limit at all. You've been bothering me for months about that and I've not even paid any mind to your questions. Truth or dare?" he asked quickly when Alfred's mouth opened to retort. The boy grumbled.

"Truth."

"Do you expect to leave this place?"

Alfred stilled, wide eyes darting over Arthur's serious face. He wasn't expecting something so somber for his first question. Was this retaliation for the age thing? "What?"

Arthur leveled his face and looked seriously over at Alfred. "Do you expect to leave this hospital?"

Alfred fidgeted under such a strong look. He'd never noticed how hard and intimidating Arthur's eyes could be. Usually he was busy not taking Alfred seriously. But this…this sort of made him nervous. Alfred bit his tongue and looked away. He was silent a moment before turning back to Arthur with a plastic smile resting on his lips, no signs of it reaching his eyes. "In one way or another, I suppose."

Arthur narrowed his eyes at that answer. He was dancing around the question. Something nagged at the back of his mind that Alfred was merely toying with him but he shook it off when Alfred started to ask again. "Truth or dare."

"Truth."

"Are you married?"

Arthur snorted at that question. His life revolved around work and alcohol. How could he possibly squeeze the time in to get married? "No."

Alfred tilted his head. "So…what? You just never met the right person?"

Arthur sighed. "I don't have time for anything of the romantic level. From going to the office, to paying bills and all of that other adult stuff, I can barely juggle my life as it is."

"Oh."

Arthur glanced over to see Alfred looking at his socks, something disappointed yet slightly…relieved? He pursed his lips. Nonsense. Don't look for something that's not there, old chap, Arthur thought and ignored the hard thrumming of his heart.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

Alfred blinked and looked up at him with a smile and raised eyebrow that made Arthur's ears catch fire. "I don't remember picking truth."

"Pish posh, you were going to choose it anyway. I didn't want to waste any syllables on you," explained Arthur easily with the wave of his hand.

"No, as a matter of fact, I don't. I don't have time for a girlfriend. Sports and school and…hospital bills and stuff keep me away from that." Arthur noticed how Alfred stumbled over the word 'hospital' but didn't pay it any mind. He wanted to slap himself for feeling relieved at hearing this information. Ugh, the boy was still in high school for crying out loud!

"Do you get lonely a lot?" Alfred asked sincerely. Arthur looked out at the rain through the hem of his messy bangs and answered honestly after a long moment.

"Sometimes."

"Me too," Alfred whispered, not even bothering for a question to be thrown back at him. Arthur felt like he was sinking in this dim room. Neither looked at each other for a while and just let it sink in. If they were both together now, then why did they feel so lonely?

Alfred let out a small cough that pierced him down to his very core. Even the small ones hurt these days. "How did you hurt your legs?" he asked lowly, glancing back towards the Briton, eyes lingering over the two lumps just beneath the covers. He still didn't know. Plane crash? But then why did nobody else come to the hospital? Only one casualty didn't make sense. Collapsed building? Car accident? Ship wreck? All of them led back to the question of why only Arthur would be here, no other casualties.

He waited as patiently as he could, which wasn't his strong suit, before realizing he was holding his breath in anticipation.

Arthur slowly looked up at the blonde waiting for his answer before he forced a small frown on his face. "I don't remember picking truth."

Alfred hesitated. "You were going to, though," he stated confidently. How could Arthur choose dare? He didn't look like a 'dare' kind of guy. Alfred almost wanted to laugh if his chest didn't feel so heavy.

"As a matter of fact, I was going to choose dare, you git," snapped Arthur. Alfred recoiled.

"Seriously?"

Arthur felt his stomach churn in horror for what he was saying. No, he would never choose dare with Alfred deciding his fate! God, what had he done to evade a question? He nodded solemnly. Alfred shrugged his shoulders and sat back.

"Alright. It's your funeral."

Arthur shut his eyes and gripped his sheets. What was he going to make him do? Make an inappropriate move on one of the nurses? Put pudding on his tuna fish sandwich for lunch? Shave his eyebrows off because Alfred was 'tired of looking at them. They look like you glued your pubes on your face.'?

"I dare you to…"

Arthur winced. What? Dared him to _what_?

"…get better."

…Huh?

Arthur looked at him incredulously. What did he say? Alfred noticed the confusion on the other male's face and shrugged again in response. "You heard me. That's a pretty harsh dare you know. That means a lot more checkups which totally suck, and a lot more walking around which means I get to call you old some more because you'll be using a cane. And you have to eat healthier for your strength to build up, and we all know how shitty healthy food tastes. You should feel real sorry you picked dare with me around. I was going to go easy on you and make you eat that centipede that's been trying to crawl through that window for a week, but I decided to bring out the big guns. I bet you're regretting it now."

Arthur gaped at him, not knowing how to react. He hadn't expected that in all his years. Alfred squirmed uncomfortably under his gaze with a frown. "Well? What are you waiting for? Go eat an apple or get some sleep or something. Or are you going to go against the rules that are set in stone for truth or dare?"

With a helpless nod, Arthur sat back against his pillows, watching as Alfred sighed and looked back out the window.

He just didn't get this boy. One minute he was goofing around and making fun of him, the next he had to go and say something like that.

Arthur pulled at his fingers under his blankets with an embarrassed frown.

He just had to pick dare.

* * *

_November 6_

Arthur had come to regret his dare more and more as the days piled up. It seemed as though just being dared to get better had a huge impact on his health. Walking was much easier now, only with a numbness radiating in his kneecaps. He hadn't felt this good since…well, since his accident.

And yet, as he felt himself getting better, Alfred had felt himself getting worse.

It was like the Yin Yang thing again, and Arthur wished with all his might that he could've picked truth. He felt guilty when he stood up to open the window or walk to the bathroom and make his bed. He felt guilty because where Alfred had been able to do all of those things before easily, he hadn't done so for the past week. He simply sat in bed all day, most times asleep or just coughing himself awake. He looked terrible, that glow he'd previously had when walking into the hospital now dulled.

Arthur was stealing his glow and he didn't want it.

He tried to talk a lot with Alfred whenever he was awake. He found merely talking to him to be a task in and of itself. Alfred didn't smile beaming smiles anymore, and his voice didn't dance with laugher but now rested at a low, hoarse pitch. He did seem genuinely happy for Arthur's practical miracle recovery but said nothing when Arthur mentioned how it was his turn to do it.

Arthur had tried almost forcefully to play truth or dare with Alfred again, hands framing his face as he frustratingly yelled at the boy who refused with a smile. The nurses even had to come in once to pull him away, nearly kicking them.

Where he should've been happy, he was frustrated.

He hated feeling like this.

On this night in particular, Arthur realized somewhere deep down that Alfred actually _meant _something to him. And that just made this whole situation a million times worse for him.

Arthur opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the sleep that fogged his vision. He felt that familiar pull inside of him and he groaned. Damn middle of the night bathroom breaks; they always made him feel like an old man – which he totally wasn't yet. Grumbling to himself, he sat up and rubbed at his eyes, hoping to adjust to the darkness.

With a small yawn, Arthur put his feet to the floor, ready to make another round to relieve himself when something just felt odd. He paused, wiggling his toes and looked down at the floor. It took a good ten seconds before Arthur grasped that his toes were wet. He blinked confused, looking at the tiled floor at the shining liquid all over the floor, the moonlight reflected on its surface.

"What in the…" He heard a noise to his left and jumped, seeing nothing but the darkness beyond the doorframe. Arthur swallowed the spit gathering at the back of his mouth before turning his attention back to the moist floor. The closer he got, the easier it was to see that it was just water. He sighed in relief, not sure exactly what he thought the liquid was but glad to see it just being water.

He paused. But why was water all over the floor? He looked up to see the nightstand empty, the water bottles gone. Did Alfred dump them on the ground? Arthur frowned to himself. Great, now he was going to have to get someone in here to clean it up. He glanced up to glare at Alfred but stopped.

That was it. That was that odd feeling he had when he awoke.

There was no stuffy breathing or snoring or coughing. No whirring of the humidifier and no restless rustling of sheets.

There was no breathing whatsoever.

Arthur sprung to his feet, slipping on the water and falling on his ass, soaking himself. He didn't care, though. He scuttled quickly over to Alfred's bed to see the covers torn back and the mattress empty. He stared with large eyes and a rapid heart at where Alfred should've been. Arthur tried to calm himself and tried to bring logic into the situation. Maybe Alfred was just in the bathroom. That would make sense. Lots of people went to the bathroom in the middle of the night.

…But not a lot of people spilled four water bottles all over the ground and turned off their very loud and very necessary humidifier before doing it.

The odd feeling morphed itself into something akin to fear.

Where was Alfred?

"Alfred?" Arthur called out quietly into the room. He stood up, ignoring the iciness of his now soggy clothes clinging to his body. He looked in the cabinet, looked in the bathroom, under the beds, out the window; nothing. Alfred wasn't here.

Arthur let out a shaky breath and gripped at his hair. He only did that when he was severely stressed out (which happened to be all of the time. That was why his hair was always in disarray). Alfred wasn't here. Why wasn't Alfred here? Was he out doing something stupid again?

_"In one way or another, I suppose."_

Arthur grit his teeth when remembering Alfred's words. If he was planning on doing anything that he would regret later, Arthur would just kill him himself. Calming himself down, Arthur tried to think clearly. He willed his knees to stop shaking, from apprehension and moving around on them for too long. He hadn't moved that quickly before and his joints were starting to ache.

Suddenly he snapped his fingers and let his eyes dart to the door. Of course! He'd heard a noise earlier when he had awoken. And judging from the wet footsteps leading out into the hallway, Arthur knew exactly who had made the noise. Following after the wet footprints, Arthur bit his lip and let his hand trail along the wall for support.

"Where are you, Alfred?" he asked to himself when he stopped at a stairwell. The footsteps faded away and dried up in front of the door. Arthur hesitantly pushed open the heavy door, praying that no one heard him leave his room, and looked up at the spiraling stairs in the dimly lit corridor. He gulped, knowing this couldn't go anywhere nice or easy.

By the time Arthur was almost at the top stairs, he was breathing heavily, legs aching and spine curling over. He couldn't walk that long, especially up that many stairs. He wanted to go back or stop and just pass out against the cool steps, but he couldn't; not when another door was so close.

Yes, he'd passed many doors leading out into the various floors of the hospital, but Arthur had a dreading suspicion that Alfred had not gotten off on another floor. Instead, the Briton tried to restore his breath and pushed against the cold door with numb fingers, blinking back as raindrops smacked against his face in the darkness.

The rooftop.

"Alfred!" he yelled, green eyes desperately seeking out that mop of blonde hair and those two impossibly blue eyes. He scrambled off his knees when they buckled under his weight. Cursing, Arthur moved forward and shivered. He was soaked and in so much pain – and just where the _hell_ was Alfred?

"This isn't funny!"

Nothing, he couldn't see absolutely anything. Arthur's face contorted into something painful before he lost his footing and fell to his knees. He was panicking now. He didn't know what to do. Arthur ran his hands over his face and was about to let out a frustrated yell when a sneeze to his right caught his attention. He shot up, ignoring the resistance in his spine. "Alfred?"

Another sneeze.

Arthur quickly tried to scramble to his feet but found himself unable to. Instead, he crawled his way over past the sound of pouring rain to see Alfred resting has back against a cement block, drenched the bone and shivering like mad. If it wasn't for his trembling shoulders, Arthur honestly wouldn't have known if he was alive. He quickly wrapped himself around the boy, screaming profanities and bitter exclamations.

"What have you done?" Arthur yelled until his voice had nearly gone. He was shaking Alfred and blinking back the burning behind his eyes when seeing Alfred crane his neck to look up at him, curling into the warmth that was radiating off Arthur's body.

He stared a long while, as if he didn't know where he was, before smiling. Arthur felt something snap like a twig inside of him and he fell forward, forehead pressing against Alfred's, both soaked and shivering. He shut his eyes and shook his head, breathing warmth across Alfred's cheeks as he spoke through blue lips. "What's so funny?"

Alfred stuttered over his breath before shutting his eyes. "You did it. You…walked up a flight of stairs."

Arthur gaped, staring incredulously at the boy in his arms before gritting his teeth and burying his face into Alfred's hair. "I hate you. I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!"

To prove a point…to go this far to prove a point for Arthur, he now knew that Alfred wasn't just some stupid kid who pulled pranks and had a short attention span. Stupid kids didn't sit in the rain and wait to see if their roommate could prove them wrong and show him that he really wasn't brittle like glass. He was well enough to walk.

He was well enough to leave.

* * *

_November 11_

"Pneumonia?"

Arthur flinched at the word. He silently buttoned up his shirt in the restroom, being as quiet as possible to hear the nurses gossip outside his door.

"Why do you sound so surprised? Of course he would get it. He was on the rooftop for hours just sitting in the rain," harshly whispered another nurse. She sounded angry but sympathetic. Arthur wondered silently if that was the woman who he'd found to help get Alfred down.

"I'm not surprised…" faded off another voice. "It just sounds harsh. He already has such a hard time with his breathing now. What about with–"

"Shh, shh!" the nurse shushed harshly, pushing her hands to shut the other woman up as Arthur begrudgingly opened the door. The women looked at him, eyeing him from top to bottom in his new attire. He looked down at himself with warm cheeks self-consciously.

In a button up white shirt with a green sweater vest, black pants and nice dress shoes, Arthur Kirkland looked much different than he did in his previous hospital garments.

"You look very nice, Mr. Kirkland," the woman commented. Arthur hesitantly nodded before grabbing his cane. He knew Alfred would make fun of him for using a cane, but his legs still hurt from that journey up the staircase. Just thinking about it made Arthur flinch, chest tightening. His body still felt numb from the rain.

Alfred was too nice and stubborn for his own good. He knew that Arthur had to use the restroom in the middle of the night every night. He knew he would get up on the right side of the bed as he always did. He knew these things and had everything set up the way he wanted.

The water on the floor to get his attention.

The humidifier turned off to make Arthur realize the absence of usual noise he always complained about.

The wet footprints to lead him to the stairwell.

The boy was an evil genius. A ridiculously ill evil genius…

Arthur sighed and handed the women his folded clothes. They took them tepidly and rested a hand on his shoulder. "Are you excited?" a nurse asked him as they walked back down the hallway to his room. He pursed his lips and stared at the tiles below him.

"I never thought I'd get out," he muttered to himself.

The nurse nodded politely. "That's understandable. You've been here a long time. I'm sure there's a lot of things you want to catch up on."

Arthur offered a small smile before turning away, walking into his room. He paused at the doorway just as he always did for the past few days. The room still had the two beds, that same window overlooking the courtyard, and many pudding cups hidden under Alfred's old pillow. Arthur snorted at that. He still didn't understand why the boy insisted on hiding his desserts.

He walked over to his bed and sat on the end of it, glancing over to where Alfred used to sit, grinning and staring at a bottle with the utmost concentration.

_"Hey. How do you suppose they get this little ball in here?_ _They must put it in beforehand, right? Or maybe they make the bottle and then put the marble in. Like cut a hole in the glass and slip it inside."_

Arthur let out a shuddering breath and shut his eyes. He was very cruel to him when he'd first arrived. Who could blame him though? His body had been in constant pain, the thought of being crippled playing on a loop in his head, and a seemingly annoying boy squabbling to no end. Of course he wouldn't like Alfred when he arrived.

But now that the room was empty, he kind of missed the incessant chatter.

"Mr. Kirkland? We just need you to sign some forms before you leave. Would you like some help down?"

He looked up at the woman, being broken out of his silent reverie, and waved her away. "No, that's alright. I can manage."

"Would you like me to hold the elevator for you?"

He smiled. "No. I think I feel like taking the stairs."

* * *

_December 23_

Ah, life. Back to the old grind. To the mundane ritual that was work and grocery shopping and bills. Only this time, Arthur did it alone and with quite a bit more liquor.

He grumbled and looked outside into the snowing streets, people already cheery and looking forward to Christmas. He didn't feel cheerful one bit. As he swallowed the last bit of his eggnog from an office party he insisted that he didn't want to attend, Arthur rubbed his fingers over his eyes.

He was tired. He was so impossibly tired of doing this that it made him sick. Arthur almost wished he was back in that sterile prison but he shook that thought away.

He could walk and function again and that was all he needed. There was no point wishing to be back in a hospital with a completely different but still repetitive ritual. Arthur slipped on his coat and began to make his way down the staircase. A lot of his coworkers, even that annoying Frenchman, had noticed the way he commuted around the very tall building. Where he used to take the elevator from his office on the twelfth floor, he now took the staircase every day.

It befuddled a few people, and when he'd first arrived back with his cane people advised against it, but he had done it so much now that no one questioned it.

Arthur made his way down the streets slowly, joints still raw and would always be until he died from his injuries. He hated the cold more because of it. It had been so long since his accident, but it still felt like yesterday. Like yesterday a face with round blue eyes stared down at him and tried to race down the hallway on his old wheelchair. Arthur scowled, stuffing his hands into his coat pockets.

He wished he had never left his building that day. If he did, then he would never have experience that pain. The pain of metal on bone and flesh tearing as easily like paper; the pain of meeting someone he knew he couldn't be around for a long time.

The pain of feeling even more alone now than he'd ever felt before.

"Merry fucking Christmas," Arthur grumbled and lit a cigarette. It was some warmth at least.

He pulled his collar up tighter around his neck and glanced up at a large building down the street. His pace slowed.

Why was he walking towards the hospital?

Arthur felt something squirm in his stomach in horror at the giant, white monster. He hadn't been there since he'd been released. There was no point in going back to that place. Well, except for…

Arthur growled and turned on his heel, intent on heading back in the opposite direction. Instead he found himself walking into a waiting room up to a front desk and putting his cigarette out on his shoe. The tiny woman at the desk just stared up at him behind her narrow glasses as his fingers left sweat marks against the countertop.

"Can I help you?" she asked, unsure of what to make of Arthur's anxious and lost expression. He tapped his fingers against the desk nervously before shaking his head. She raised an eyebrow. "You don't?"

He paused before nodding. "Is there…Is there an Alfred Jones here?" he asked, voice cracking. Boy did he sound confident.

The woman turned her attention to the computer screen and let her eyes gloss over something as she typed. She stopped when she got to the bottom of a page after clicking her mouse. "Oh. No. I'm afraid not. He's gone."

Arthur didn't hear the words, he just saw her lips moving. His head spun for a minute and that nervousness building in his chest pooled into something heavy and cold. He fidgeted with his coat. "W…I'm sorry. Did you – could you repeat that?"

"Alfred Jones is no longer with us."

"O-oh. That's what I thought you said…" Arthur's throat closed on him and he smiled at the woman, eyes wide and looking across at the waiting room with confusion. Alfred was gone? He – right when he found the nerve to come visit him, he'd died? He completely forgot all about the pain in his legs when the tsunami that was his worst fear consumed his chest. "T-thank you for your time," he said, eyes pooling over with tears as his lip quivered and his knees buckled.

The woman gasped and looked over the side of her desk that Arthur was clinging to, his whole body shaking with sobs.

"S-sir? Are you alright?" she asked, moving around the side to try and console the distraught Briton. He couldn't help it. He'd never felt this sad before. He hadn't felt this sad when his parents died, or when his brother kicked him in the nuts with a steel-toed boot, when he had to give his dog away, nor when he received the news that his job was relocating him from England to America.

Everything had piled so high, it was bound to fall sooner or later.

And so he wailed with all eyes on him, a soothing hand rubbing at his shoulders that did little to help how he was feeling.

"I sh-should've…I…nggh…I shouldn't have picked dare," he choked out, burying his face into his hands. The confused woman looked at him without an idea in the world to do as he clung onto her arm.

"I don't know what you're saying, sir. Is there anything I can do?"

He shook his head. No, there wasn't anything anyone in this world could do.

"Arthur?"

That one voice saying his name tore through his distressed cries enough for Arthur to shut his yammering mouth. He sniffed, headache radiating behind his eyes as they puffed up and became red. The Briton looked up over the nurse confused at Alfred, clothed in warm winter clothes and staring at him with absolute astonishment.

"A-Alfred?" Arthur blurted in confusion. Alfred scratched behind his head awkwardly.

"Yeah. What're you doing crying on the floor?"

Arthur blinked, a trail of snot and tears covering his face making Alfred grimace. He glanced between the woman and Alfred before pushing himself away, rubbing at his face as his cheeks lit up like Christmas lights. Arthur got to his feet and noticed all the people in the waiting room looking at him as he rubbed his sleeve to make himself look more presentable.

"I-I thought you were gone," Arthur stated dumbly.

Alfred raised an eyebrow. The woman straightened up and looked back at Alfred curiously. "Yes, what are you still doing here? You were supposed to have checked out hours ago."

"My ma's got a stomach virus or something that's going around. She's been in the bathroom throwing up and pressing her face against the sink," Alfred explained, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Arthur sniffled, looking at the nurse as if she just announced she was Jack the Ripper.

"You – you meant 'left the hospital' gone? Not 'gone' gone?" he asked, feeling humiliation sting at him now. Oh, he must've looked like a fool. Judging from Alfred's and the nurse's faces, he could safely say that he did.

"'Gone' gone? Like dead?" she asked with a hand on her hip.

Alfred raised his eyebrows into his hairline looking positively amused. "You thought I was _dead_?"

Arthur took a step back, stuttering defensively with a frown. "N-no."

"Then why were you crying?" Alfred asked, a sly smile slithering onto his lips. Arthur's face heated up.

"I – I–" Arthur literally shook with mortification as Alfred snickered. "I just remembered that I have somewhere to be. Good night," he blurted, spinning around on his feet and making his way quickly for the doors. Arthur pushed them open and stumbled into the snow, hoping to get as far away as possible. Well, Alfred looked surprisingly fine. That was good. _Jolly _good. Now he could live the rest of his life without worrying.

"Hey Arthur! Wait up!"

Arthur stiffened and jerked his neck to see Alfred making his way towards him, the light from the hospital doors illuminating his form and catching Arthur's breath in his throat. Alfred stopped right in front of him, cheeks and nose red from the cold. "Shouldn't you be inside where you won't catch pneumonia?" Arthur asked dryly, keeping his distance. Alfred tilted his head with a grin.

"Dude, I'm fine. I'm not going to catch pneumonia from talking to you outside for a minute."

"You could," Arthur murmured.

Alfred rolled his eyes. "You're being ridiculous. I'm fine. If I wasn't then they wouldn't be letting me out today."

Arthur relaxed, that familiar feeling of relief flowing through his veins. Did Alfred make a miracle recovery too or did he just start cooperating and his sickness went dormant? Alfred coughed into his glove making Arthur frown. Probably the latter of the two. "Christmas came early," he muttered.

"Hm? What was that?"

Arthur jumped, heartbeat picking up. "I said that I have to be somewhere early tomorrow. Good to see you again, lad. Have a lovely holiday season," he said, trying to walk away again when Alfred's hand snaked around his elbow, halting him. He looked over at Alfred wearily with his trademark scowl as Alfred smiled at him.

"Were you coming here to visit me?"

"No," was the immediate response.

"You don't have to lie. I won't laugh. Scout's honor."

"No."

"Come on, Arthur–"

"I said no, you little–!"

Arthur stilled when arms slid around his back, looking down to see the top of Alfred's head as he was embraced in a hug. Arthur looked around, hoping no one was witnessing this embarrassing display before he sighed and wrapped one arm around Alfred's shoulders awkwardly.

"You're not like glass, huh?" Alfred laughed into Arthur's coat.

"I already told you that many times," Arthur grumbled, white puffs of air streaming from his lips in the cold night.

Alfred leaned back up enough to look at Arthur clearly. "Narrow is all you need right?"

Arthur stared before rubbing a hand over his face and shaking his head with humor. "I suppose so."

"I think you were faking."

Arthur scoffed and peeled away from Alfred's octopus-like arms. "Oh, please. I couldn't fake that if my life depended on it."

Alfred rocked back on his heels and laughed. "I bet you could."

Arthur pursed his lips and gazed up at the hospital riddled with many lights from the various rooms. He wondered if he could spot their miracle room. Deciding against it, Arthur stopped looking. Tightening the coat around him, Arthur began to move to leave when a snowball hit the back of his head. He fell onto his face in a pile of snow, turning to glare at Alfred who was laughing like crazy.

"You think that's funny?" Arthur growled.

Alfred shook his head and waved his hand in apology, leaning over to offer a hand to Arthur. "Hey, truth or dare?"

Arthur paused, staring at that hand before looking up at Alfred's face who looked honestly curious. "Truth." He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

"Why did you really come to visit me?"

Arthur couldn't deny it as he took Alfred's hand, pulling the boy down on top of him with a laugh of his own when Alfred face-planted into the snow. "Misery loves company, love."


End file.
